White Robe
by DigiExpert
Summary: The petite brunette walked hurriedly down the dark street, past the homeless scattered about, past the slow lazy midnight walkers. She had a schedule to keep to, one that was unpleasant, but necessary; a duty to perform... Oneshot, songfic.


**Before you read this fic, some explanations are in order. First of all, it's based on the music video and English lyrics for t.A.T.u's White Robe song. Now, the English lyrics are not translated from the Russian lyrics and they do not mean the same thing. The original version deals with abortion and killing. The English version doesn't, but the lyrics fit the music video. I have used the official English version of White Robe for most of the scenes in this story. In fact, very few scenes connect to the uncensored Russian version, Beliy Plaschik. I'm quite certain you can figure out the two characters in this story if you know anything about my writing at all. It's truly not very hard. To wrap up, I do not own the song White Robe. That is t.A.T.u's. It's also quite obvious that I do not own Power Rangers. Enjoy, and please review...I rather love how this turned out.**

**White Robe  
**

_Feeling ugly, looking pretty  
Yellow ribbons, black graffiti  
Word is written, bond is broken  
No big secret left unspoken  
Sun is painted in the corner  
But it's never getting warmer  
All the lies they keep on selling  
But you never check the spelling_

The petite brunette walked hurriedly down the dark street, past the homeless scattered about, past the slow lazy midnight walkers. She had a schedule to keep to, one that was unpleasant, but necessary; a duty to perform. Her heels clacked loudly against the broken concrete and she focused merely on what lay before her that evening. She ran a hand through her hair, pulling the long strands away from her face. In a few hours, she would feel better. In a few hours, the entire ordeal would be over. She had been shocked inside when the orders had been passed on to her, but on the outside, no one knew how this affected her. She had been trained to treat every case with cold emotion, for to put herself in the other's shoes could prove to be a dangerous emotional rollercoaster; the consequences on one's soul were deadly. She smoothed her fingers against her dress, hurrying on to her apartment. Soon, soon, soon, repeated over and over in her mind. If only she could completely remove herself from the situation, there would be no problem. Unfortunately, that was not to be the case.

Across town, in another part of the city, another feminine form stood in a dimly lit concrete room. She wore nothing but a white robe that tied in the back. It didn't hide much from behind, even though she had been allowed to keep her undergarments. She had been given a toothbrush and towel and shoved into the room. There was no privacy here; every room was filmed, and she knew two guards in black uniforms stood just outside the door, waiting for her to make some breach in protocol. She swabbed some sort of tasteless toothpaste onto the brittle brush and angrily shoved it into her mouth. She avoided looking into the mirror, using one hand to wipe the stray blonde locks that fell forward from a greasy ponytail. She could not bare to look at her own face, to face her own shame and guilt, yet she found that as she continued to brush, she could not help but to glance at her image. She stared at the mirror image, as though locked in a staring contest with her inner self. Feeling foolish, her anger overtook her and she spit at her own mirror image, slamming the toothbrush into the sink. It clattered against the shiny metal and she ignored it, moving to the shower. Off came the white robe as she untied the thin string that held it together. Off came the black undergarments, tossed aside. She fooled with the taps until a stream of lukewarm water flowed from the shower head, soaking her. The water began to wash away the dirt and grim, but she could not wash away the guilt. She glared straight ahead, looking in no other direction.

Returning home alone had become routine for her. She pulled the heels from her feet, tossing the shoes onto the tiled floor, not caring where they landed. Black and white was the color scheme, and she sighed as she fell onto white satin sheets. She lay there, ignoring the chore that lay before her. For now, she rested, staring at the ceiling as she removed the stockings, the dress, and the undergarments. The cool air felt good against her naked skin and for a moment allowed her to forget anything else. Seconds, then minutes, slowly passed by as her body relaxed and felt nothing but the air around her. Soon a nagging voice overtook the relaxed air of the environment and she knew she must prepare for the task before her. She rose, moving to the small mirror in the room. Brushing her hair, she swept it up into a prim and proper bun, pinning it into place. She glanced at herself in the mirror, hardened body, hardened emotions. Yet, why did she care so much about this assignment. She knew damned well why, but she refused to admit it, even to herself.

_Flying bullets  
Hit the targets  
Wings and haloes  
Five to seven  
In these white robes  
Through the darkness  
Paragliding  
Back to heaven_

It was quite a task to avoid the thoughts of what was to come that evening. Her eyes bore a hole into the bunk above her, wishing she could escape into the night. Laughter echoed in the hallway; she'd heard the rumors that passed through the ranks of the guards, the jokes that had been told about her escapade. Her fist curled in anger as she knew exactly what she would have done to each and every one of them. However, castration would have ended in a much sooner death for her and so she had kept a lid on her anger; yet now the lid was threatening to boil over and she was uncertain how much longer she could keep her mouth shut. At this point, she was pretty certain it wouldn't matter what she did; it would all end the same way. She also knew that tonight was a great festivity for many and that she would be on display when the time came. Acting out now would do nothing for her, good or bad. She was merely an entertaining toy for the evening, one some had paid a hefty fee to see. Even behind these walls, she knew of the auctions, of the biddings for tickets. It was sickening.

Her fingers deftly grabbed for the uniform on the wire rack. Neatly pressed and polished it hung proudly, though she felt sickened to wear it this time. She laid each piece separately on the bed. Pants, shirt, jacket, tie, cap, socks. Each piece she pulled on slowly. First the socks, then the pressed pants, and then the shirt. She moved to a full length mirror, watching her fingers deftly button each silver button. Her fingers picked up the black tie, and she studied it against her shirt in the mirror. No, no she wouldn't wear the tie, not tonight. She tossed it on the bed, leaving it in the crumpled heap it landed. The jacket came next and she frowned at the numerous badges that were visible on the chest. Tonight, they felt worthless, meaningless. They meant absolutely nothing, except to show that she could calmly follow orders and execute them swiftly. The final piece, the cap, was placed upon her head as a heavy knocking resounded throughout the room. She pulled on her black boots, and each footstep sounded louder than the last as she crossed the room. It was time.

A child, that's what she felt like. She had been taken from the cell and guided to yet another room. Guided would be putting it gently, as her hands had been roughly shoved behind her back, the guard slightly twisting her right arm enough to cause a slight pain to shoot up into her shoulder. She winced, but said nothing. She had been shoved into the chair next to the table. Her eyes stared straight ahead as a guard placed a tray in front of her. Her eyes barely registered what was on the tray before she deftly shoved the entire thing off the table in one fell swoop. The contents splashed onto the floor, as the plates and cups smashed against the concrete. One of the guards sneered before bringing her a bottle of white vodka and a glass tumbler. She uncorked the bottle, and filled the tumbler with the liquid. She lifted the tumbler in her right hand, eyes focused on the swirling clear liquid before tilting the glass backward, the contents pouring down her throat. She felt the intense burning, but continued to drink until the entire glass was empty. She placed the empty tumbler before her as she was pulled from the table. One guard shoved her hands behind her back while another placed the silver cuffs around her wrist. Soon, it would be her turn.

_Time is running, we are sitting  
Back together just for splitting  
You are crying in the corner  
Always next and never former  
Open up and let me hear it  
Former body, future spirit  
Brain is useless, chair is rocking  
Open doors for dead man walking_

The car rumbled quietly down the darkened streets. Her eyes stared out the window, searching for signs of life. She could see nothing beyond the trash fires that burned in the distanced. It was as though the area sensed what was to occur and had made themselves scarce, fearful that they too could suffer the exact same fate. Streetlight poured into the car every so often, lighting up the form of the stone faced driver. No conversation was made; there was none to be had. She knew that she could close her eyes and the familiar route would unfold in her head, the many turns, the buildings, and the landscape were too familiar to eyes such as her own. Her hands rested in her lap. A small pale blue handkerchief lay between her fingers, a delicate memory of former years, of a past that would never return to the present. It was the only memento she had kept, and would soon be the only trace left. She felt the car slow, and knew they had arrived. She rolled the window down and stared into the face of an unseeing soldier; he knew her well. One curt nod and the car moved beyond the gate, beyond the dreaded white sign. "Detention Center".

Down the corridor she walked, the guards on either side of her. She could hear their snickers and feel their gaze on her body, on the robe that failed to cover her guilt. Her eyes saw nothing but the outdoor opening before her. It was almost time and she only wished things hadn't turned out this way in the end. Her face showed no emotion. She would not be weak, she would not give them yet another reason to humiliate her name. She would face them with what little honor and dignity she could muster; it was all she had left. In the distance she could hear the voices, the laughter, and the chatter. She was the entertainment and they were the waiting audience, dying to see what this toy would do for them, what tricks it could perform. They knew the ending, yet they had to see it with their own eyes. It was spectator folly to them.

Her footsteps echoed down the corridor. Behind her marched her squadron, stone faced and silent as she was. Their rifles rested against their shoulders and they marched in time, creating an eerie music that echoed off the concrete walls. How many times she'd tread this very same path on nights just as this one, and felt no emotion about the task before her. Tonight was different. She could not hide her emotions from herself, even if she could hide them from the world. Her hands stayed at her sides, yet she felt the handkerchief burning a hole in her pocket, a reminder that it too would witness the night's events. She felt as though she was in her own personal hell, yet she knew nothing could be done to change the orders handed to her. As had been done before, she must obey orders from the superiors, no questions asked. If not, the next time it just might be her on the other side. She walked into the opening and took her position. Her squadron fell into line and stood still, waiting for the command. Her command.

The crowd gathered overhead. They had dressed up for the evening, donning tuxes and ball gowns of costly proportions for the event. Someone had provided the wine and they socialized and drank, waiting for the main event. It was an evening on the town to them, a mere drop in the bucket compared to the riches that sat in their fat bank accounts. They truly did not give a damn about the event that was about to unfold. It would merely make for a good story to tell at the next gathering. To describe the entire event in all its gory details to gaping socialites was a treat in itself, well worth the money, especially if it helped them to climb that invisible ladder to secure dark trades and secrets. Life itself was of no consequence to them.

Closer, closer she came, wanting to shrink back and run, to hide away until everything blew over. It would do her no good. She was shoved toward the center of the opening where the shackles lay. Her eyes gazed upon the wooden post and followed it to the top, where the shackles hung freely, taunting her. She felt the string at the back of her neck loosened and suddenly her white robe was pulled from her body, cast aside onto the concrete. She stood there, in black undergarments as her guards led her to the platform. They turned her around, raising her arms to lock them into the shackles. She would not allow them the satisfaction of seeing her fear, even as her exposed, pregnant belly was bared for all to see. Her eyes locked onto the squadron before her, their commander quite a familiar face. In another time, things had been different. Did she still remember? Had she kept the one remaining link. Her eyes searched the other, searching for some sign of recognition; she found nothing but emptiness. Her heart sank.

_Flying Bullets  
Hit the targets  
Wings and haloes  
Five to seven  
In these white robes  
Through the darkness  
Paragliding  
Back to heaven_

Locking eyes was not the best idea, but she let no emotion show toward the prisoner. One false step and it could be discovered that she had a role to play in this prisoner's past. It was time to execute what she'd come here for; after tonight she needn't worry anymore. Clearing her mind of any further thoughts, she prepared to give the command. _Ready._ She heard the shuffling of the rifles, the alignment of them. _Aim_. She knew they were setting their sites on the target, each with a finger poised on the trigger. _Fire_. She heard the echoing of gunshot, heard the whistling of the bullets as they passed her and embedded themselves into the prisoner. She watched the silent look of horror cross the face and the blue eyes light with fear. The body crumpled, and only the shackles kept it from collapsing into a bloody heap. Limply it hung there, and yet she still stared straight ahead, face showing no emotion. More than ever the handkerchief burned against her side. She looked off to the side, ignoring the gruesome scene before her that would take some time to clean. As she turned to lead her squadron back down the corridor they had come, the echoing of a ringing phone began to sound. Her footsteps echoed as she led the squadron away, leaving the guards to deal with the call. Her assignment had been fulfilled; reprieve was not a word to be spoken any longer.

**Now that you've read my version, I suggest that you see the music video that accompanies it. You can find it on youtube. Simply search for "tatu white robe". The third result will be titled "tATu White Robe (Official English verison). The results you'll see above it are for the Russian version, Beliy Plaschik, both censored and uncensored. Your main focus should be the third result though, as it is the one used to guide this story. Review, and let me know what you think, all right?**


End file.
